


Shrapnel

by Tallulah



Category: Battle Royale (Manga)
Genre: Bittersweet, Gen, Post-Canon, Refugees, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:53:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28671813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tallulah/pseuds/Tallulah
Summary: Refugees from the Greater East Asian Republic have generally been through some tough times. With the Program, though, it's different.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4
Collections: 12 Days of Christmas Challenge 2020





	Shrapnel

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 12 Days of Christmas on Dreamwidth, prompt "ten important thoughts".

As a rule, anyone who’s part of the US-based Greater East Asian Republic refugee community has been through some hard times. Not that they all sit around telling each other that – sometimes it’s determined small talk about day-to-day reality now, and sometimes it’s safe reminiscences that don’t touch on the bad stuff, like, _Oh, Kagawa prefecture, I remember, we had a holiday there once, ate the best ice cream I’ve ever tasted..._ And even then, people sometimes just get up and walk out on the conversation. Shuuya’s done it himself, a couple of times – sometimes the remembering is nice, you smile to think of the happy moments, but other times you remember that pretty much all the people in the memories are dead, you might know how or have been there when some of them died, and now you’re thinking about that and it’s completely ruined your Wednesday.

But he and Noriko have notoriety. For a while he thought he was imagining it, the uncertain looks, the sense that people were horribly aware of a dark backstory they didn’t dare trespass on, until Noriko said she’d noticed it too. A few of the people they know here lost kids or cousins or siblings in the Program, but no one else has been in it. Even though some of these people have been in labour camps or interrogated or had to flee with nothing, everyone seems to think Shuuya and Noriko have been to hell and back.

Most people don’t mention it, the way most people avoided talking about it back in Japan, which Shuuya’s fine with – the memories are like shrapnel or something, dug in too deep to pull out, and he’s got Noriko, so if the past evers get too much for one of them then the other can hold on to them and say, _I know. I know_ and mean it. It’s hardly a subject for casual chat. 

Until one time, much, much later, when Shuuya’s almost got used to pretending to be a responsible adult, when he has a steady job instead of a mix of busking and cash-in-hand dish-washing, when he’s locking up the hall after a volunteer shift providing the music for a displaced persons meet-and-greet, this girl comes up to him, wearing hand-me-down too-big clothes and a face like she’s in a waking nightmare, and says, “They told me… they told me you were in the Program.”

Shuuya thinks he knows why she’s asking, so he doesn’t lead with _It’s not something I like to talk about_ , he just says, “Yeah. Me and my girlfriend.”

The girl swallows, and says, “They said you… the two of you escaped, though. Like… you’re not winners.”

“The guy who got us out was, though.” He checks the door’s locked, stands with his hands in his pockets: “Also, from what I saw, it seems like there isn’t much difference between winners and… and not. I had to…” He was all set to continue with whatever that sentence was going to be, but he can taste salt air and he can hear the breeze rushing over an empty playground as he steps out into the dark. That’s a dream he often has, even now – that first step, and then another, and seeing a figure lying on the ground, and – _people are playing –_

He must sound like he’s just forgotten what he was going to say. He doesn’t make like it’s a joke, _god, old memories, how many years ago now?_ Not that he comes out with anything much better: “It’s, uh. I don’t reckon anyone gets to judge unless they were there and… and know. It’s hard. Going through that. It’s really hard.”

Which is understatement of the century, but the girl’s mouth twitches. “Yeah. It is.” She smiles and then it breaks up, she turns away before saying hoarsely, “I, I should go. Sorry to bother you. Just...”

“It’s okay,” he says. “I, uh, I do the music here every week, come by again if you want. I mean… survivors got to stick together, right?”

Which is hardly the most original idea, but maybe kind of the point? At any rate, she says, “Yeah. I… thank you,” before she starts to walk away.


End file.
